


Payback

by Aneonmoose



Category: T2 Trainspotting, Trainspotting (1996), Trainspotting (Irvine Welsh), Trainspotting (Movies)
Genre: Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Hair Dyeing, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, Mark is a smartass, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phonetic Scots, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Revenge, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aneonmoose/pseuds/Aneonmoose
Summary: Simon thinks his idea for getting back at Mark for ruining his suede shoes with vomit is genius, until he realises Mark seems genuinely hurt by it.That is until he remembers it's Renton he's dealing with and Renton always has a plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is grossly inadequate when compared to all the amazing works in this fandom but I hope it's enjoyable regardless. Constructive criticism is appreciated! I used scotranslate.com for the phonetics so if there are any glaring errors let me know and I'll fix them :) I apologise in advance if it's as cringy as I think it is.

" _Williamson!_ " The shower shuts off suddenly and Simon bites his lip as the bathroom door slams hard enough to rattle the DVD shelf in the sitting room. He exhales, schools his face into hurt innocence and waits for Storm Mark Renton to destroy the flat. Simon hears the angry stomping getting closer, although the intimidating effect is thwarted by the squelching of wet skin on wooden planks. "Ah'm gonnae fuckin' _murdurr ye!_ " Mark shouts, coming to a stop in front of the TV, effectively preventing Simon from ignoring Mark for the shitty sitcom he wasn't really watching anyway. Simon blinks and looks up at his flatmate's face, determined not to look at Mark's toned, wet chest or the low-hanging towel on his hips.

  
"Whit's wrong, _Mark_?" Mark purses his lips, eyes dark and narrowed. Simon grins innocently at his friend, ignoring the incredulous bark of laughter that escapes the older man's mouth.

  
"'Whit's wrong, Mark'," Renton mimics, mouth contorted into a grimace, "Ye'r a fuckin' _arsehole_ is whit's fuckin' wrong, ye fuckin' prick! Look at my hair!" His voice cracks as he reaches a hysterical tone and he clears his throat indignantly, wiping a hand over his face. Simon just arches an eyebrow, silently admiring the effect. He had honestly expected patches of colour but surprisingly, the bleach seems to have affected all the hair equally and although it looks matted and listless, it could've looked much worse. A small smirk breaks out on his face and Mark's cheeks redden in fury, but instead of the expected punch, he just laughs harshly, storming away to look at himself in the hall mirror. Simon sighs and follows, watching his friend tug at his hair.

  
"'s nae that bad..."

  
"Ah hae a fuckin' job interview in two hours ye absolute _cunt_!" Simon winces, not expecting Rents to yell. "Fuck!"

"Ah'll get ye hair dye soon as th' chemist's opens, calm doon."

  
"Ah hae tae catch th' pishin' train in twenty-five minutes, Simon! There's nae time!" Simon smirks once more, heading towards his room. He returns a second later with a grey flat cap and snickers as Mark tightens his jaw and clenches his fists. Simon's too busy laughing to protect his face. The punch stings less than his ego does but he rubs his cheek and grimaces, hoping to arouse guilt in his friend, despite a tiny voice in his head screaming that he shouldn't be. Still, it doesn't matter because Mark is walking away stiffly, shoulders taut. The door to his bedroom slams and Simon sighs, running a hand through his hair. He wants to tell Mark that he looks good but somehow, he feels it wouldn't be appreciated. He looks at the door to his friend's room and hopes with all he has that the job interview goes well because he doesn't dare to imagine Mark's mood if it doesn't.

** ** ** ** ** **

The silence in the flat when Simon walks in with the shopping is more menacing than it should be. He puts the bags down to take his shoes off and hears a glass being put down harshly. Walking into the sitting room, he notices Mark, still in his suit, sprawled out on the sofa with a near empty whisky glass next to him on the mahogany coffee table.

  
"Tis always 5 pm somewhere, eh?" He remarks, feeling Mark's eyes following his movements as he hauls the groceries into the kitchen, laying them out on the counter. "Tak' it th' interview didnae go well?"

  
"They accepted me." Simon pauses, turning his head to glance at his friend in confusion.

  
"Sae then? Whit -"

  
"Ah saw Diane." When Simon doesn't react, Mark continues, "She said ah looked guid. Asked if ah did it tae look mair lik' mah boyfriend."

  
"Boyfriend?" Simon is glad he isn't facing Mark because he feels his face heat up. "Ye huv a boyfriend?"

  
"No."

  
"Hm."

  
"That's it? 'Hm'?"

  
"Well, whit dae ye want me tae say?" Simon asks, turning to look at Mark, who, to his surprise, is standing at the arch to the kitchen.

  
"Maybe put two and two together, realise she thinks we're shagging 'n' gie yer opinion oan th' matter? Dinnae, just a suggestion." Simon barks out a humorless laugh as he turns back to the bags, putting food into cupboards.

"Ye dinnae want my opinion."

  
"Try me."

  
"Fuck's sake, Mark, Ah'm fuckin' sorry about your hair. Wasnae worth it. Ye dae look good but," Simon pauses, searching the bags until he finds the box of hair dye and hands it to Mark, "ye dinnae like it, so just..."

  
"Thanks." Mark smiles softly and his face relaxes slightly. Simon exhales and turns around, thinking the topic has changed, but no such luck. "Ah _do_ want yer opinion, though."

  
"Naw."

  
"C'mon, Sicks." Simon feels a shiver run down his spine as Mark's breath ghosts over his neck. When did he get so close? He can't remember the last time Mark called him 'Sicks', much less him ever having said it in such a way.

"Git tae fuck."

  
"C'mon," Mark coaxes, inching closer and closer with every second. Simon bites his lip and tenses up, hanging his head. "Cause, ah've been thinkin'."

  
"Yeah?" Simon hates the way his voice wavers and he clears his throat, licking his lips. He feels claustrophobic, the air is too hot, too heavy.

  
"Mhm," Mark purrs. Another shiver. "See, ah wis thinkin'... she wasn't entirely off..." Mark gently turns Simon to face him and smirks. Simon's breath hitches in his throat and he closes his eyes, feeling like the world's biggest cliche. He can feel his heart pounding as Mark sneaks an arm into his hair and stands on his toes, close enough that their lips are brushing ever so slightly and Simon can taste the whisky on his friend's breath. _Come on_ , he urges silently, too afraid to make the next move. Mark curls his fingers and closes the gap between them, grinning against Simon's lips. Simon's thoughts are running at 1000 miles an hour and then - Mark is leaning into his ear, hand still caressing his head, "By the way... Blond looks better on you than it does me." Then, as though nothing ever happened, Mark is walking out of the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the state he left his friend in. Simon watches him go, then brings his fingertips up to his lips.

He smiles.

 

 

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**Author's Note:**

> Based on the image above from the trailer for ''I Love You, Phillip Morris''.


End file.
